Promoted to His Princess Page 4

  She followed him over to the bed, walking carefully in the yards of blue silk, then came to a halt and reached around behind her for the zip. Her forehead creased as she fumbled for it, so he moved behind her, taking hold of the tab and slowly drawing it down. The fabric parted, exposing the elegant length of her bare back, and he had the almost irresistible urge to run his finger down it, to touch her skin. What would happen if he did? Would she shiver? Would her breath catch?

  That would be a mistake.

  Luckily, he didn’t have to make what would probably be the wrong decision, because she moved away from him, going over to where he’d laid out the other gown. She let the blue silk slip from her shoulders, stepping out of it without a trace of self-consciousness. Undressing before him the way she had previously. As if he were a statue. As if he wasn’t a man at all, let alone a man with a certain reputation.

  A reputation you can’t afford to revisit.

  Xerxes clenched his fists then opened them again. She’d taken him by surprise the first time she’d stripped in front of him, because it had been the last thing he’d expected her to do, and he’d been a little angry with her about that.

  So, really, a second strip show shouldn’t have either surprised him or affected him, yet it did both. The former because he’d thought she would have remembered him telling her to be circumspect and she hadn’t, and the latter because she was beautiful. Her figure, as he’d seen already, was long and lean, and toned. Athletic. Powerful.

  His groin hardened as she bent to pick up the golden gown, wearing nothing but black briefs and that determinedly practical sports bra. Golden skin and strength. A fierce, warrior beauty. Like Artemis, the huntress his ancestors had used to worship.

  He could worship her. He’d be her most attentive priest. He’d shower her with glory and all sorts of other...pleasures.

  Stop.

  He took a deep, slow breath. Yes, he should very definitely stop. Yet his mind kept drifting to his engagement and the feeling of that cage closing around him. It reminded him of things he didn’t want to think about—pain and betrayal—and a capsule in his hand that he hadn’t swallowed.

  A capsule that would have killed him.

  A capsule that had ultimately led to his banishment and exile, that had saved him and condemned him at the same time.

  He didn’t want to go back to that and yet here he was. For his brother’s sake. Committing himself to a life of duty and responsibility, and a marriage with no passion and no chemistry. Not even any friendliness or camaraderie.

  Since when do you care about that?

  He wasn’t supposed to, yet the cold feeling inside him was there all the same. Oh, he would do this; he wouldn’t shirk his responsibilities to his brother, but...didn’t he deserve something for his sacrifice? Surely one last taste of freedom wasn’t asking too much?

  Calista had picked up the golden fabric and was already stepping into it, drawing it up; clearly she didn’t need his help this time, even managing to get the zip up herself.

  He forced that little disappointment away. ‘The mirror, please.’

  Obediently, she went over to stand in front of the mirrors while he prowled up behind her. Again, she didn’t look at herself, her gaze off to the side.

  He came to a stop, staring at her reflection, his breath catching.

  Yes, he was right to think of her as a goddess. That was exactly what she was. A tall, golden goddess, the colour of the gown highlighting her lovely skin and deepening the clear amber of her eyes.

  It would have been perfect except for the black sports bra getting in the way.

  ‘The straps again,’ he said. ‘They ruin the line of the gown.’

  Her gaze flicked to her reflection and away again. Then before he could say anything more, she reached behind her, undid the zip a little, then tugged the sports bra up and over her head before discarding it on the ground.

  Looking away would have been the decent thing to do, but he’d never been decent, and he certainly wasn’t now. He actually couldn’t. He was riveted by the glimpse of her breasts, round and full, her nipples a deep rose, before she tugged the gown up, reaching for the zip once again.

  Desire swept through him, his groin aching, his muscles tight. He was standing very close behind her and her scent was fresh and a touch sweet, like a bouquet of freshly cut wildflowers. He wanted to curve his hands over those beautiful breasts, bury his face in her hair and inhale her.

  It had been too long and he was weak.

  You’ve always been weak, though, haven’t you?

  The thought echoed in his head as he caught her watching him again in the mirror.

  She felt the charge between them; he knew she did. And yes, he was weak.

  ‘Why won’t you look at yourself?’ he asked to break the agonising tension.

  ‘I don’t need to look at myself.’ Her chin lifted as if he’d challenged her. ‘I’m a soldier, not a socialite.’

  She did not like him insisting. Why was that?

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with socialites. Nothing wrong with putting on a pretty dress and enjoying a few parties.’

  ‘That’s not my purpose.’

  ‘I see. And what is your purpose?’

  ‘To protect Axios.’ The look in her eyes changed, the spark of temper becoming one of pride. She looked like a new recruit, on fire with the desire to throw her life away for her country. Such patriotism. He’d once felt that same urge and it had nearly destroyed him.

  ‘I see.’ His temper coiled, shifting unexpectedly like a sleepy beast inside him. ‘You’re a zealot, then.’

  ‘If wanting to serve my country to the best of my ability makes me a zealot, then yes, I am.’ Her back was ramrod straight. ‘Better to be a zealot than a...’ She stopped herself just in time.

  ‘Than a selfish playboy once exiled for cowardice?’ he finished for her.

  A muscle twitched in her jaw, the coppery glints in her eyes bright. She looked even more goddess-like, golden Artemis in full flight, hunting with her bow drawn. ‘If the shoe fits.’

  There was a sudden, deathly silence.

  No one spoke of his exile. Not the generals, not the army, not the people of Axios. Not the press. His father had silenced them. But not entirely, because rumours had spread all the same. About how he’d refused a mission. How he’d gone AWOL. How he’d cowered like a dog in the street while his men had been shot all around him.

  He’d never bothered with the truth because he’d convinced himself so completely that he didn’t care. But he did care. For some reason, staring into this woman’s beautiful eyes, he found he cared rather a lot. And he wasn’t sure why. His brother knew the truth and he was the only person in the entire world who Xerxes cared about.

  What did it matter what this woman thought of him? Why was her judgement so important? She was only a guard, burning with that same blind loyalty and dedication to her country that he remembered feeling all those years ago. She needed to be careful. Those emotions could be used, could be manipulated. Could lead to betrayal.

  Better not to care about anything at all.

  But what would that passion look like in bed?

  The thought was instinctive, sending a raw heat coiling through him. Yes, far better to think about sex than his own destruction. That was simpler, easier, and a whole lot more pleasurable.

  What would she look like naked and beneath him? Would her eyes glitter with the same dedication and pride as he pushed inside her? Would she apply that zealot’s fervour to making him come?

  A rush of colour flooded her face, as if she’d read his thoughts. ‘My apologies, Your Highness. I should not have said that.’

  Oh, yes, that was right. She wasn’t thinking of sex. She’d just insulted him.

  ‘You disapprove of me,’ he said, deciding he wasn’t going to let her of
f the hook. And he didn’t make it a question, either, because it was obvious she did.

  More emotions flickered over her face, as if now she’d let her mask slip, she couldn’t quite put it back on. ‘It’s not my place—’

  ‘Don’t lie to me.’

  Her lovely mouth compressed. ‘Your Highness—’

  ‘It’s a simple question, soldier,’ he drawled. ‘Yes or no?’

  She was silent for a long moment and he thought she wouldn’t answer him. But her gaze was defiant, clashing with his in the mirror as she said, ‘Yes. I do.’

  There was no denying that challenge.

  She’d flung the truth at him like a gauntlet, daring him to pick it up.

  Well, if she thought he wouldn’t, she was wrong.

  ‘You forget yourself,’ he murmured, anticipation rising inside him. He liked a fight, always had, and fighting her would be...

  It should be nothing. You must step away.

  But he couldn’t. And when she lifted her chin higher, not backing down, he knew he wouldn’t. ‘You wanted the truth, Your Highness. What does it matter what I think anyway? I’m just one guard.’

  Good question. Perhaps it was her idealism he wanted to confront, the idealism he’d once had long ago. The idealism that had led him to a capsule in his hand, the weight of what he knew was expected of him weighing him down, the knowledge that he was utterly and completely expendable.

  You should have taken it.

  No, he shouldn’t. He’d done the right thing in not taking it. His mistake had been letting himself care and he would not make that mistake again.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he agreed lazily, reaching for the pins that kept her hair coiled in its tight little bun, unable to stop himself. ‘You don’t need to approve of me in order to die for me.’

  She froze as he pulled the pins out one by one, deliberately slowly, dropping them carelessly on the floor and watching her as he did so.

  Her breathing had quickened, the pulse at the base of her throat accelerating.

  Yes, he was pushing her. Wanting a challenge, wanting a fight. And it was dangerous; it was playing with fire. But he’d always liked a little danger, and getting burned could be fun.

  ‘I would die for you, Your Highness.’ Certainty glowed in her eyes. ‘That’s my purpose, too.’

  ‘Would you?’ He pulled out the last pin and dropped it on the floor. ‘You’d die for a man you don’t know, much less like?’

  ‘What I think of you doesn’t matter. It’s the royal house of Nikolaides that’s important, and that’s what I’m protecting.’

  It’s never you. Did you really think it was?

  The thought was a snake winding through his head. Of course. She meant that she would die for the prince, not for him. The country and the throne were the only things that mattered. The only things that had ever mattered. The man wasn’t important, and once he was engaged, the man would be gone, crushed beneath the weight of the crown.

  But you won’t care. You’ll have become your brother. Cold. Hard. Rigid. Exactly what your father always wanted you to be.

  Ice sat in the pit of his stomach, spreading through his veins. He didn’t know why that thought should cause him so much dread, when it hadn’t before. When the last ten years of his life had been dedicated to proving he didn’t care much about anything.

  When he’d been a boy, all he’d wanted was to be Defender of his brother’s throne. The position hadn’t been filled in years, since his father had had no siblings, and Xerxes had been desperate for the honour. But that was before he’d learned what a cage being royal was, before he’d understood the demands it would lay on him, the sacrifices he would have to make.

  He knew now though. Oh, yes, he knew.

  She was watching him in the mirror again, her gaze sharp, as if she could see inside his head. See all his doubts.

  See the weak man you really are.

  Xerxes ignored the thought, tugging on her bun, uncoiling it so it fell down her back in a thick, tangled skein. Initially he’d thought her hair was plain brown, but it wasn’t. There were strands of gold there, and tawny, chestnut, caramel and a deep mahogany like fox fur. Her hair shimmered in thick waves, curling at the ends. He’d never seen anything so lovely.

  He wanted to wind his fingers in it, wrap it around his wrists, spread it all over his chest, silky and soft.

  She made no sound, made no move to stop him, merely watching with that same steady, amber gaze.

  She’s not looking at the prince.

  His breath caught, his temper shifting yet again, coiling tight. He shouldn’t care what she was looking at. Whether it was the flawed, broken man he’d once been or the sulky playboy he’d turned himself into. It shouldn’t matter. So why did he feel angry? Why did he feel exposed?

  Either way, he needed an angle and he’d always preferred to attack and take the enemy by surprise.

  ‘Such blind obedience.’ He pushed his fingers into the silky mass of her hair, combing it out so it cascaded over her shoulders. ‘If you’d die for someone like me with no questions asked, purely because you were ordered to, then what else would you do?’ His fingers closed into a fist as he drew her head back gently. ‘Tell me, soldier. If I ordered you to unzip your gown and stand naked before me, would you do it?’

  CHAPTER THREE

  CALISTA’S HEART WAS beating very fast. The prince was behind her, all heat and hard male strength, his hand in her hair. He wasn’t holding her tightly and it wasn’t painful, but she could feel his grip, the slight tug of it sending shivers down her spine.

  Every part of this was a problem.

  His proximity, his touch. The weight of his dark stare gleamed in the mirror. The scent of him was pine and sunshine, and something else musky and delicious.

  She shouldn’t have lost her grip on her temper. Shouldn’t have told him she disapproved of him. Definitely shouldn’t have said she’d die for him.

  She should have kept her answers to Yes, Your Highness and No, Your Highness.

  But she hadn’t.

  She’d let his presence get under her skin. The way he looked at her, the way her body reacted to him as if it had a mind of its own. The seductive darkness of his voice. The gowns he’d made her try on and the shock of seeing herself looking not at all like the soldier she was, reminding her of the little girl she’d once been, who’d loved trying on her mother’s clothes. Who’d once wanted nothing more than to grow up pretty and fun and smiley just like her. Sunshine to her father’s dour raincloud presence.

  The little girl who hadn’t ended up being anyone’s sunshine, who had ended up destroying her parents’ marriage instead.

  Looking at herself in the mirror had felt impossible, so she’d looked at him instead, mesmerised by the flickers of emotion that had glinted in his eyes. Pain and anger, so quickly masked she wasn’t sure if she’d seen them at all.

  He shouldn’t be so fascinating to her. She shouldn’t want to ask him what had happened to him, why he’d been exiled, and why he’d returned when he was reputed not to care about anyone or anything. So many questions she wanted to ask, but she couldn’t.

  He was her prince and she was only a guard, and she had no right to any of them.

  His eyes in the mirror gleamed and she knew that he was angry. That what she’d said about dying for his royal house had got to him in some way. But how? And why? He knew her purpose as well as she did, so why should that make him angry?

  Why would he let the opinion of one lowly royal guard get to him in this way?

  ‘Well?’ His breath was warm on the bare skin of her neck and shoulders. ‘Tell me the truth. If I ordered you to get naked for me, would you do it?’

  Yes, he was angry. She must have hit him where he was vulnerable and now he was snapping like a tiger, going on the attack.

 
Fascination wrapped itself around her, holding her tight. He was so strong and so powerful, invulnerable almost. Yet she’d found a weak point in his armour and that intrigued her, thrilled her.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, purely to see what his reaction would be. ‘I would.’

  ‘Would you?’ His grip on her hair shifted, his fingers easing down to the nape of her neck and pressing lightly. ‘And if I ordered you into my bed, you’d do that too?’

  He didn’t mean it, she knew that. He was still angry and that tiger was still snapping. Yet that didn’t stop a shiver from chasing over her skin at the thought of obeying his orders, unzipping her gown and being naked in front of him, of moving over to that bed and slipping between its sheets, waiting for him...

  There was a dragging kind of pressure between her thighs, a pulse directly related to the hard, muscular wall of his chest at her back and the slight brush of his fingers on her neck. She knew what they were: her feminine urges. But she would not surrender the way her mother had surrendered. Unlike Nerida Kouros, Calista was loyal.

  Which makes this a dangerous game you’re playing.

  Perhaps. But she was strong. And a soldier did not give ground.

  ‘Yes, Your Highness,’ she said levelly. ‘I would do that, too.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be so honest,’ the prince murmured. ‘An unprincipled man might take advantage of it.’ His fingertips brushed lightly over her nape. ‘A man such as myself, for example.’

  His touch felt like sparks scattering all over her skin, lighting tiny fires wherever they landed.

  She shivered. No one had laid hands on her like this, not with such gentleness. Every touch she’d had over the years had been in training and it had all been violent and physical. Punches and kicks, the purpose to incapacitate, to kill. But this wasn’t violent in any way. It was light, soft. Teasing. Almost as if he liked it and was doing it for his pleasure. And hers...

  She swallowed, trying to resist the sensations. Physical pleasure made you weak and she could not give in. ‘Why would you do that?’